“But you have to be married.”
Grigori became more alert. Surely she could not possibly be thinking… “Why are you telling me this?” he said.
“As it is I won’t get anything.”
Grigori lifted himself on one elbow and looked at her. Suddenly his heart was racing.
She said: “If I was married to a soldier I’d be better off. So would my baby.”
“But… you love Lev.”
“I know.” She began to cry. “But Lev is in America and he doesn’t care enough even to write and ask how I am.”
“So… what do you want to do?” Grigori knew the answer, but he had to hear it.
“I want to get married,” she said.
“Just so that you can get the soldier’s wife’s allowance.”
She nodded, and with that nod she extinguished in him a faint, foolish hope that had flared briefly. “It would mean so much,” she said. “To have a little money when the baby comes-especially as you’ll be away with the army.”
“I understand,” he said with a heavy heart.
“Can we get married?” she said. “Please?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
Five couples were married at the same time in the Church of the Blessed Virgin. The priest read the service fast, and Grigori observed with irritation that he did not look anyone in the eye. The man would hardly have noticed if one of the brides had been a gorilla.
Grigori did not much care. Whenever he passed a church, he remembered the priest who had tried to have some kind of sex with eleven-year-old Lev. Grigori’s contempt for Christianity had later been reinforced by lectures on atheism at Konstantin’s Bolshevik discussion group.
Grigori and Katerina were getting married at short notice, as were the other four couples. All the men were in uniform. Mobilization had caused a rush to matrimony, and the church was struggling to keep up. Grigori hated the uniform as a symbol of servitude.
He had told no one about the marriage. He did not feel it was a reason for celebration. Katerina had made it clear that it was a purely practical measure, a way for her to get an allowance. As such it was a very good idea, and Grigori would be less anxious, when he was away with the army, knowing that she had financial security. All the same he could not help feeling there was something horribly farcical about the wedding.
Katerina was not so shy, and all the girls from the boardinghouse were in the congregation, as well as several workers from the Putilov plant.
Afterward there was a party in the girls’ room at the boardinghouse, with beer and vodka and a violinist who played folk tunes they all knew. When people started to get drunk, Grigori slipped out and went to his own room. He took off his boots and lay on the bed in his uniform trousers and shirt. He blew out the candle but he could see by the light from the street. He still ached from Pinsky’s beating: his left arm hurt when he tried to use it and his cracked ribs gave him a stabbing pain every time he turned over in bed.
Tomorrow he would be on a train west. The shooting would start any day now. He was scared: only a mad person would feel otherwise. But he was smart and determined and he would try his best to stay alive, which was what he had done ever since his mother died.
He was still awake when Katerina came in. “You left the party early,” she complained.
“I didn’t want to get drunk.”
She pulled up the skirt of her dress.
He was astonished. He stared at her body, outlined by the light from the streetlamps, the long curves of her thighs and the fair curls. He was aroused and confused. “What are you doing?” he said.
“Coming to bed, of course.”
“Not here.”
She kicked off her shoes. “What are you talking about? We’re married.”
“Just so that you can collect your allowance.”
“Still, you deserve something in return.” She lay on the bed and kissed his mouth with the smell of vodka on her breath.
He could not help the desire that rose within him, making him flush with passion and shame. All the same he managed to say a choked: “No.”
She took his hand and pulled it to her breast. Against his will he caressed her, gently squeezing the soft flesh, his fingertips finding her nipple through the coarse fabric of her dress. “You see?” she said. “You want to.”
The note of triumph angered him. “Of course I want to,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the day I first saw you. But you love Lev.”
“Oh, why do you always think about Lev?”
“It’s a habit I got into when he was small and vulnerable.”
“Well, he’s a big man now, and he doesn’t care two kopeks for you, or for me. He took your passport, your ticket, and your money, and left us with nothing except his baby.”
She was right, Lev had always been selfish. “But you don’t love your family because they’re kind and considerate. You love them because they’re your family.”
“Oh, give yourself a treat,” she said with irritation. “You’re joining the army tomorrow. You don’t want to die regretting that you didn’t fuck me when you had the chance.”
He was powerfully tempted. Even though she was half-drunk, her body was warm and inviting beside him. Was he not entitled to one night of bliss?
She ran her hand up his leg and grasped his stiff penis. “Come on, you’ve married me, you might as well take what you’re entitled to.”
And that was the problem, he thought. She did not love him. She was offering herself in payment for what he had done. It was prostitution. He felt insulted to the point of anger, and the fact that he longed to give in only made the feeling worse.
She began to rub his penis up and down. Furious and inflamed, he pushed her away. The shove was rougher than he really intended, and she fell off the bed.
She cried out in surprise and pain.
He had not meant it to happen, but he was too angry to apologize.
For several long moments she lay on the floor, weeping and cursing at the same time. He resisted the temptation to help her. She struggled to her feet, staggering from the vodka. “You pig!” she said. “How can you be so cruel?” She straightened her dress, covering her beautiful legs. “What sort of wedding night is this for a girl-to be kicked out of her husband’s bed?”
Grigori was stung by her words, but he lay still and said nothing.
“I never thought you could be so hard-hearted,” she raved. “Go to hell! Go to hell!” She picked up her shoes, flung open the door, and stormed out of the room.
Grigori felt utterly miserable. On his last day as a civilian he had quarreled with the woman he adored. If he died in battle now, he would die unhappy. What a rotten world, he thought; what a lousy life.
He went to the door to close it. As he did so, he heard Katerina in the next room, speaking with forced gaiety. “Grigori can’t get it up-too drunk!” she said. “Give me some more vodka and let’s have another dance!”
He slammed the door and threw himself on the bed.
Eventually he fell into a troubled sleep. Next morning he woke early. He washed and put on his uniform and ate some bread.
When he put his head around the door of the girls’ room he saw them all fast asleep, the floor littered with bottles, the air foul with stale tobacco smoke and spilled beer. He stared for a long minute at Katerina, sleeping
